


The Business Card Part Two

by missmollyetc



Series: Cardverse [3]
Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Minor Violence, Multi, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One kick to get in the door, two seconds to step inside, three bullets to the chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Business Card Part Two

Two.

 

An hour after their introductory session, and Don still wasn't quite sure he wanted to go back. Not that he had much of a choice, of course, but still. It was time taken away from his work.

So much time, actually, that he'd had to play catch up over his lunch break. Terry, after an appropriately large coffee bribe, had agreed to help out, and they'd settled quietly into the paper stacks. She, at least, was getting some work done.

Don shook his head at the papers in front of him. He bit the inside of his cheek to shock himself back to focus, but the mug shot of Irene Taylor, art forger, turned into someone else yet again.

Dr. Samantha (please, call me Sam) Weber had turned out to be a petite brunette wrapped in a sharp business suit, and legs that went all the way down to the ground. Don knew this, because staring at her legs (and imagining them when she walked behind her desk) had gotten him through a large portion of their hour-long prelim 'talk.'

They'd exchanged names, colleges, and even favorite sports teams. She was a perfectly lovely woman, and Don found himself quite attracted. Which was only rational when faced with a good looking woman, even one who pried into other people's business like they had a right to the answers.

Intellectually, Don knew assigning an agent to sessions with a psychiatrist was a sound method of assessing whether or not said agent was fit to do his job. Emotionally, he resented the implication that he was nuts. He wasn't nuts, he was...conflicted.

After all, he'd shot--Charlie had kissed him. His _little brother_ (apparently not so little anymore) had stuck his mouth on top of Don's and...and walked off into the sunset like the damned Lone Ranger, or something.

'Thank you.' What the fuck was that supposed to mean? You didn't _thank_ someone for kil--for shooting another human being. You...you certainly didn't kiss them for it, no matter what the action movies said.

Don scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth for the third time in three minutes, and watched Terry watch him out of the corner of her eye.

She was looking pretty good today. He liked her hair when it floated loose. In the academy, it had been a dark brown and much longer. She'd worn it in a twist, so that when she let it down at night, the locks curled down her shoulders. God, she'd smelled of flowers, and her mouth had tasted like ink because of all the pens she'd chewed...

"How come you stopped that?" he asked.

Terry jumped, but turned in her chair to smile at him. "Well, I..."

She had a smile you felt all the way to your bones. She'd been smiling the first time Don'd ever kissed her back at the academy--right in the middle of a long, involved lecture on the psychology of crime. She could go on for hours, a light in his eyes like a kid with a prize, so excited about some new piece of knowledge that he just had to share, and his smile--_her_ smile.

Terry. Not Charlie. Don grimaced. God, he was going insane.

"...And Pluto's looking good for my vacation time this year, but I'm not sure if I can get tickets." Terry's mouth pursed, as her eyebrows pushed their way up her forehead.

Don shook his head. "Sorry, what?"

"That's my question, isn't it?"

Terry cocked her head to the side, leaning her elbow on the desk and supporting her chin with one elegant hand. Don's mouth opened a half measure, breath hissing lightly through his teeth. Terry shone even under the horrible fluorescents in the team room. Light curved down the side of her throat, disappearing into the open vee of her blouse.

Then, she poked him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow!"

"I _said_"--she emphasized with another jab--"when did I stop what?"

"Oh...chewing your pens."

Terry blinked. She pulled back, and her hand dropped into her lap. Her nose wrinkled, mouth twitching at the edges.

"I don't bite my pens, Don," she said, a laugh bubbled through her voice. "Is this some kind of Freudian jab?"

He leaned closer, and waggled his eyebrows. "Not bite, _chew_. You used to chew your pens. Back when we were..." He waved a hand between them. "You know."

She nodded, bewildered, but still amused. "Oh, I know. I just don't know what you're talking about. I've never bitten--or chewed--any pen. Even when we were together," she said.

"You're kidding. C'mon, I can..." Don licked his lips, and found the taste of ink still on his tongue. "I remember..."

Terry quirked an eyebrow. "You sure this was me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said flatly.

Terry straightened in her chair, taken aback. Don frowned, and looked down at the table. He picked up his coffee cup, and downed the cold remnants of his espresso.

Terry placed her small, capable hand in the crook of his elbow. "Hey," she said softly. "How'd it go today?"

He started to chuckle and quickly turned it into a cough. Her hand tightened and released, rubbing through his shirt. He tucked his head to the side and saw her eyes widen, then go flat.

"How'd what go?" he asked, though only one thing had actually happened today, and the grapevine was alive and well.

"Your first meeting with Dr. Weber," she said, coaxing him out. Such a sweet, soft voice.

He pursed his lips. He hadn't told anyone the name of his agency appointed shrink. "You two know each other, huh?"

"I know of her," she corrected. "We say hi in the halls, that sort of thing. She seems nice."

"She's a busybody."

"Well, that's her job, isn't it?" Terry said, nodding slowly.

He pulled back abruptly, letting Terry's hand drop off his arm. "I suppose so," he said.

Terry startled and then composed herself in her chair, only her eyes remained alert. She placed her hands in her lap and crossed her legs. Her voice took on a dry cast, a coaxing hook that sounded remarkably like her friend Dr. Weber.

"You look like you haven't been sleeping, Don. Have you?"

He blew air out of his mouth, looking away. "I had a late night," he said. "Nothing unusual for this office."

"That's true," Terry said. "But we wrapped our big cases a week ago, Don. Don't you think it's time to sleep in a little?"

Don closed his eyes against the sudden muzzle flash, but red bloomed behind his eyelids, so he opened them. Terry sat quietly at his side, waiting for his answer. He ground his teeth, tightening his jaw.

"I don't need this from you," he said.

"Don't need what from me?" she asked.

"This!" He waved his hand through the air and brought it down to rake through his hair. "This..._inquiry_ you're starting up. Have I been _sleeping_, am I _okay_… I got enough of that this morning, all right?"

His free hand drummed on the table, and Don forced it to still. He swallowed a few times, tasting something sour and wishing it was ink. Terry watched him, then she nodded seriously.

"All right Don," she said. "If that's how you want to work this, than I'll go along with it."

He nodded sharply. "That's what I want."

Was it so much to ask to be left alone? Damn, kil--shoot someone in the line of duty, and suddenly everyone got chatty.

She raised her hand. "But I want you to realize that there are people in this office--"

He groaned, and Terry raised her voice to overcome his.

"There are people in this office who like you and worry about you, and want you to be happy," she finished.

"Dammit, Terry!" Don slapped his palm against the table. "I am happy! I'm _fine_ and I would appreciate it if everyone would just get off my damn case! I don't need this right now, Terry, I really don't."

Terry looked down at her lap, and her mouth crumpled for a moment. Her hands twisted together, and she looked up. "Then what _do_ you need right now?" she asked.

Don's jaw tensed, teeth grinding. He frowned into her kind, always welcome face, and lunged forward. Their mouths smashed together, stifling Terry's yelp. He gripped the back of her head to hold her in place, pressing his tongue against the wall of her teeth, and pushed onward gracelessly. She tasted like stale coffee, like him.

Terry's fist slammed into his stomach, and Don dropped back into his chair, gasping for air. She stood, looming above him. Her hair was in disarray, lips swollen, and her nostrils flared with each breath. Don groaned and rubbed his eyes with his palm.

"I'm going to forget this happened," Terry said, quietly fixing her hair and straightening her blouse.

She glanced out the plate glass walls, and back to him. Don reflexively looked out as well, and was more grateful than he could imagine for how the office cleared out during lunch. She waited calmly until Don nodded, looking down at his lap.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I am too," she said, and walked towards the door. As she pulled the handle, she glanced to the left, over Don's head, and stiffened.

Don twisted in his chair. Charlie stood in front of the glass wall, unblinking, looking inside. A pen hung from the corner of his mouth.

 

***

 

The world seemed to flex around Don, focusing tunnel-like on the unreadable look on Charlie's face. He was dimly aware of Terry leaving the room, and then he himself was outside, crowding into Charlie's space, smelling chalk and ink and the curry he must have had for lunch.

"What are you doing here?" Don hissed, grabbing on to Charlie's arm and squeezing. "Nobody called you."

Charlie flinched under his grasp, but didn't back away. "I came to see how you were doing," he said quietly.

Wasn't that just the question of the hour.

Don's lips pulled back from his teeth. Red bursts swamped his sight, three in row as his muscles twitched under his tightening skin. He pushed Charlie backwards, forcing him to turn around, and frog marched him into the stairwell.

The door clanged hollowly behind them both. Charlie was breathing hard, the line of his shoulders trembled underneath his jacket. The muscles beneath Don's hand were tight with strain.

"Don, Don, I don't know what you're thinking right now, but I'd like to remind you that we are inside of a public building, and you _are_ a federal agent, a public servant as it were--"

"Shut up," Don grated. He was going to need dental work if he continued grinding his teeth this much.

"Sure, I can shut up, of course I can, I'm just saying, you know, that killing me, or--or whatever you--"

"_Shut up_." Don whirled Charlie to face him and pushed him flat against the wall at the head of the stairs. His other hand came up to bury itself in the loose fabric at Charlie's shoulder.

"Shutting up now," Charlie said, nodding so hard his curls bounced across his nose.

Somewhere along the way he'd lost the pen, and now a dark spot of ink lurked at the corner of his bottom lip. Don closed his eyes, sucking air desperately into his mouth. This was _Charlie_. Yes, he drove Don crazy, but not like this, never like this. He had to--had to figure out what Charlie wanted, and then get him _out_.

"Why. Are you here, Charlie." Don didn't bother framing it as a question. When Charlie didn't answer, he shook him until Charlie's hands came up to grasp Don's wrists.

"I…I came to see how--"

"You came to see _how I am_," Don said. "How I'm feeling."

Charlie nodded quickly. The tip of his pink tongue flickered out over his lips, wetting his open mouth. His chest rose and fell under Don's hand. Don realized his fist had flattened over his brother's chest, palm against his heart. He pressed down to feel the beat under his fingers, the curved bone underneath the surprisingly solid muscle.

"Damn it, Charlie, how do you… You _kissed_ me, God damn it. You…_kissed_ me."

Charlie squeaked. He actually squeaked, and wriggled back against the wall. His eyes locked onto Don's face, and Don found himself looking away, fixing his gaze on the ink spot near Charlie's mouth.

"I had to do something. You _killed_ a man, Don, and--"

"Don't."

He frowned, but Charlie was just as stubborn as Don himself. He persisted, eyes flashing. "I'm not sorry," he said. "I'm not going to apologize. I'm glad--"

"You're my God damned brother!" Don roared.

His voice reverberated in the stairwell, doubling back and attacking his ears. Charlie flexed his grip on Don's wrists, strong fingers stroking beneath his shirt sleeves and over the thin skin covering his veins. Don shoved his face close to Charlie's, breathing in the smell of his brother, and it did nothing to help at all.

Charlie tilted his head to the side, and sucked Don's lower lip into his mouth. Don choked, as teeth nibbled gently and a tongue slipped alongside his own. His hands twisted in Charlie's clothes. He forced his brother back against the wall with his body, snarling into the kiss.

Charlie's hands skittered across Don's arms, kneading his shoulders, wrapping around to draw him closer. Don began to shudder as he felt Charlie harden against his stomach, as he felt _himself_ harden and grind into his brother.

This had to be his fault, his responsibility. Something he'd done, something he'd said that Charlie had misinterpreted and that, ultimately, had led them to this point. If he'd been prepared enough to realize it, then he would have been able to change the situation. But he had to have known, how could he have not _known_? It had to be Don's fault. They were in the south stairwell, the one with the broken security camera. Why else would he have taken Charlie here?

Don tore himself loose from Charlie's mouth, burying his head where his brother's jacket met his neck. His mouth tasted like ink. Oh God, his _brother_. And Terry back in the office. Terry, who had always been there for him. Charlie, who looked up to him.

"What am I doing?" he groaned, flinching when Charlie wrapped his calf around Don's leg. Oh, this wasn't supposed to feel good. His hips wanted to move forward, wanted _grind_ against Charlie. He couldn't let himself, this was--

"Don. Don," Charlie panted into his ear. "It's okay."

Somehow, he found the strength to push away, to hold Charlie back. Don fought to get air into his lungs, trying to look anywhere but at Charlie's wet mouth. His thumb rubbed back and forth across the exposed skin at Charlie's collar.

"It's not. It's not okay," he said. "Nothing like this can be okay."

Charlie swallowed. His eyes were glazed, hips shifting forward. Don refused to acknowledge what that did to him.

"You're stressed," Charlie said. "I can understand that."

"This is not for you to understand," Don said.

His hands moved across Charlie's chest as if pulled by invisible strings, kneading down his stomach. Charlie shivered, closing his eyes and tilting his face to the ceiling. Don couldn't look at him. He let Charlie draw him closer so he wouldn't have to. Instead, he spoke into Charlie's ear. Someone had to say it, and someone had to hear, and maybe if he said then Charlie would understand, and it wouldn't be…it wouldn't _hurt_ as much as it felt so good.

"I was doing my job," he whispered, making Charlie shiver. "Killing that man was a part of my job. And you're my brother, and this is wrong."

His hands wormed underneath Charlie's clothes and sunk into the warm skin he found. A shift brought him between Charlie's legs, and a pull aligned their groins. Don pushed against Charlie, thrusting against his brother's… Damn everything to hell, he was rubbing himself off on his brother. He was getting off to the sound of Charlie moaning in his ear, the feel of him under Don's hands, the sucking pressure of Charlie's mouth against his own and it was good, so good that it felt like hell as flames licked their way up and down his spine.

He keened into Charlie's ear, and Charlie wailed in his, driving Don to thrust faster, to drive against Charlie until their sounds matched each other as their movements did. Don squeezed his eyes shut, burying his nose into Charlie's curls, and shook himself to orgasm. His knees buckled, and Charlie took his weight, grinding harder until he came as well, biting down on Don's shoulder to muffle his shriek.

"Never," Don said, holding Charlie close. "Never again. Never thank me again. Not for that. Not for anything."

**Author's Note:**

> Slight spoilers for "Prime Suspect." Anyone else notice Don took the shot?


End file.
